Still the One

by Debra Cowan

  A pair of glass doors led them into a small tiled entry with an elevator. Cool air swirling around them, they walked through another set of glass doors to their left and past a row of chairs lined up against the wall.

  A petite, gray-haired woman smiled at them from behind a tall sheet of bulletproof glass that stretched from wall to wall. In a small alcove to Kit’s right was a door marked Personnel Only.

  Rafe fished his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and nudged it through the bowl-shaped opening beneath the glass. “Hi, I’m a private investigator from Oklahoma, and I wondered if I could talk to your duty sergeant?”

  The woman flipped open his wallet, studied his license then picked up the phone close to her right hand. After she hung up, she said, “Sergeant Smith will be right out.”

  A few minutes later, the door marked Personnel Only opened. A tall, lanky man with shrewd eyes and the freckled face of a farm boy identified himself as Sergeant Smith and invited them back. Rafe put the man’s age close to his own thirty-two.

  Open doors, marked with name plaques, lined both sides of a long corridor. The walls, painted a soft blue, sported framed photos of various officers receiving awards, posing on motorcycles in full dress uniform and lined up for group shots. The sergeant showed them into the break room, the sixth and last door on the right. A big poster of a classic, cherry-red Corvette was mounted on the wall next to an old refrigerator.

  Rafe smiled in admiration. “A sixty-seven Stingray. I’ve got a black one.”

  “That’s mine,” Smith said. “Great cars.”

  “Yes.”

  The sergeant eased down onto the corner of a long table holding foam cups and an ancient coffeemaker. “Esther said you’re a P.I.?”

  “That’s right,” Rafe confirmed.

  Kit sank down on a scratched metal chair, content to let Rafe do the talking but paying close attention to every word.

  “I’m working a missing persons case.” He showed the officer pictures of Liz and Tony while filling him in on what had happened. “We got a call from Liz last night that they were in this area, but we haven’t been able to locate them yet.”

  Smith looked at the pictures, then shook his head. “Sorry, haven’t seen them.”

  “Her hair’s blond now,” Kit offered, scooting forward in her chair.

  “Sorry.” He gave her a sympathetic smile before shifting his gaze to Rafe. “You say there’s a mob connection?”

  “Yeah. And I’ve got descriptions of two guys suspected of murder who are probably following them. One’s very slender, six feet tall, and the other is about five foot eight, balding with a thick neck.”

  Smith had taken out a small, well-worn notebook while Rafe talked and now scribbled a note. “I’ll put the word out. Give you a call if I come across anything.”

  “Thanks, I’d appreciate that.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Kit added.

  Rafe circled his cell phone number on his business card and passed it to Sergeant Smith.

  The officer rose. “Let’s get copies of your pictures, then check with the guys who aren’t out on calls right now.”

  “Great.”

  As Smith led them around the corner and down another hall, he looked at the photos again. Holding up Liz’s picture, his gaze sliced to Kit. “I see a resemblance in the eyes. Related?”

  “She’s my sister,” Kit said.

  He nodded, stopping inside the doorway of a small room, cramped with half a dozen desks and computers. Two officers, one male, one female, sat in front of computer screens, hunched over keyboards. Two other males leaned back in wooden-legged chairs with their feet propped on their desks.

  Sergeant Smith held up the photos of Liz and Tony. “Hey, guys, anybody seen these two people? The woman’s gone blond.”

  Chairs creaked as the four officers rose to their feet and ambled over. The auburn-haired male officer who’d been working on the computer and was about Rafe’s height studied the pictures, then passed them back. “No, haven’t seen ’em.”

  Kit pressed against the doorjamb, peering around Rafe.

  The lone female officer, a pretty brunette, bent her head over the pictures. “No, sorry,” she murmured, her gaze lingering on Rafe a little longer than Kit liked.

  The next officer, a young man with a crew cut and massive biceps that strained the sleeves of his uniform, reached across the brunette. He straightened when he saw Liz’s picture. “Hey, Georgie, we’ve seen this woman.”

  Kit’s heart leaped, and she clutched a handful of Rafe’s shirt. She couldn’t help it, almost didn’t care when he stiffened.

  The younger officer, Scott, motioned over a barrel-shaped man with stubby legs and a cigar clamped between his teeth.

  “Yeah, we’ve definitely seen her,” Officer Scott said.

  Georgie, identified as Pollack by his name tag, leaned close, then removed the cigar stub and grinned. “We were in the diner earlier this morning and she walked in. Ordered two breakfasts to go.”

  “You’re sure it was her? Did you see Tony, too?” Kit stepped around Rafe, encouraged.

  “Didn’t see him, ma’am, but I ain’t likely to forget a woman with a set of—er, a woman like that.” His eyes glowed, and Kit could just imagine his thoughts. She’d seen it all before and for the first time was really thankful that Liz’s looks drew such notice.

  “We knew she wasn’t from around here.”

  “Did you happen to notice as she was leaving,” Rafe asked with a male-bonding grin, “what kind of car she was in?”

  “Actually, we did.” From the sheepish grin on the younger officer’s face, Kit figured they had watched Liz as long as possible. Typical male response, especially if her sister had dyed her long, thick hair blond. “They were in a Ford pickup, white. Probably eight or ten years old. Oklahoma tags.”

  “Great.” Rafe shook hands with both men.

  “Her hair’s shorter, too. About here.” Officer Scott indicated his collarbone.

  Kit was shocked Liz had cut her hair. “Thanks.”

  “You’re not the only one looking for ’em.”

  She stilled, looking at Rafe.

  “No, we’re not.” His gaze narrowed slightly. “How’d you know that?”

  “About fifteen, twenty minutes later, a bald guy walks in, shows the waitress a picture and I heard her tell him that a woman matching that same description had just left.”

  Bald guy. With a thick neck, Kit thought, concern worming into her excitement over getting a lead.

  Rafe asked, “Did you happen to see which direction the woman in the truck went?”

  “Looked like they were heading north, for US-69, but I couldn’t tell you for sure.”

  “That’s great. We really appreciate your help.”

  “Any time,” Sergeant Smith said, shaking Rafe’s hand. “We don’t want any trouble, especially with the mob. We’ll keep an eye out.”

  Once outside, Rafe paused next to Kit’s door after opening it.

  “Sounds like they’ve already left,” she said.

  “Probably, but now we know what they’re driving. At least for now. Let’s sweep through the parking lots in town.”

  “All right.” Captured between the car and Rafe’s broad chest, Kit told herself to get in the car before she did something she’d regret, like touch him. As she settled in her seat, he shut the door, then walked around and got in.

  “I’m surprised Liz hasn’t called yet.” Kit fastened her seat belt as Rafe started the car.

  “Until she does, we should probably stay put. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “No. Of course not.” But she did. She needed desperately to get some kind of space from him. She’d been counting on her sister to provide that. Maybe Liz was still here.

  An hour later, they’d made a sweep of every parking lot in town, including the hotels they’d already checked. No sign of an old-model white Ford pickup with Oklahoma tags.

  “Looks like we missed
them,” Kit said.

  He turned into the parking lot of the Wexler Inn. “How about if we hole up here and wait until we hear from Liz?”

  The prospect of spending another night alone with Rafe snapped her nerves taut. “You don’t think we can catch them?”

  “Which direction, Kit?”

  “Good point.” She noted the tight lines of his body, the white lines that fanned out from his generous mouth. “Look, I’m sorry about this—”

  “Hey, none of this is your fault. We’ll find them. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to take off without having some idea where to go.”

  “I agree.” She watched the cars whiz by on the busy street in front of them.

  “So, we’ll check in here. We can get separate rooms. Since it seems that Alexander’s goons are ahead of us rather than behind, there’s no reason we have to crowd each other.”

  Crowd each other? She wouldn’t have put it that way, but then she hadn’t been the one to put their past in a box that would never be opened again, had she? She forced a smile. “Great. Two rooms. Then what?”

  “Find something to do while we wait.”

  Her gaze met his. There wasn’t one bit of suggestion in his tone, in his look. Just a cool steadiness. “All right.”

  What was she wanting to see? Desire? Regret? He’d made it clear where they stood.

  A muffled ring sounded, and Kit jumped, then grabbed her purse from the back seat. Another ring and she had it out. “Yes! Hello!”

  “What happened?” Liz demanded. “Could you not figure out my hints?”

  Kit’s lips twisted, and her gaze shot to Rafe. She stabbed a finger toward the phone, indicating that it was Liz. He leaned close, and she held the phone between them so he could hear. “I figured it out, if you meant Wexler, Kansas.”

  “Yes, so what’s the deal?” Her sister’s voice rose. “I waited almost three hours for that money.”

  “Are you guys all right?” Kit asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I brought the money. I’m here. We can meet right now.”

  “You brought it?” Liz’s voice turned shrill, and Kit moved the phone a fraction away. “I thought I could depend on you. What are we going to do? We need that money, Kit! I can’t believe you would trick me this way.”

  “Give me a break, Liz. I’m trying to help you.”

  “Then why don’t I have that money?” her sister snapped.

  “You’re going to meet me and get it,” Kit said, warmed by Rafe’s thumbs-up. “Rafe can get protection for Tony while he—”

  “Rafe!” her sister exploded. “Rafe Blackstock?”

  “Yes, and he—”

  “Oh, good grief. No wonder you’re not thinking straight.”

  Kit ignored that, though her blood started a slow boil. “Liz, he’s a P.I. now. He’s been helping me all along.”

  “It was probably his idea not to wire that money.”

  “It was a good idea,” Kit said tightly.

  “Tell her you’ll wire it now,” Rafe whispered.

  Kit frowned.

  He nodded, his gaze urging. “Go on.”

  “I’ll wire it now, Liz, if you don’t want to meet me.”

  “We’re gone, Kit. We’re not coming back there. We think we saw one of Alexander’s men.”

  “That’s why you should let us meet you somewhere.”

  “So they can do to us what they did to Eddie? No, thanks.”

  The scorn in her sister’s voice needled Kit, but she recognized the fear underneath. “Tell me where to send the money.”

  “Will you really do it this time?”

  Rafe nodded, his cheek nudging hers.

  “Yes,” Kit said, refusing to dwell on the feel of his warm, supple skin, the smooth jaw.

  “Promise?” Liz asked.

  “Yes.” Kit gritted the word out, about ready to pass the phone off to Rafe.

  “Okay. Remember the first boy I ever kissed? Second grade.”

  Frustrated, Kit let her forehead fall forward. Rafe’s breath washed against her neck, her earlobe. “No, I don’t remember.”

  “Second grade, Kit. And it’s in the same state we’re all in now. Wire the money to the First State Bank there.”

  And she hung up.

  With careful deliberation, afraid she might scream, Kit also hung up, then shoved the phone in her purse. “She makes me so mad,” she said between gritted teeth.

  “I know, but we’ve got to focus on what she said, figure out where she wants to pick up that money.”

  “The First State Bank of Nowhere, Kansas,” she muttered, her relief at hearing Liz’s voice short-lived. “All right, all right, I’m trying.”

  Rafe chuckled, his shoulder lifting against hers. “You gotta admit no one else could figure out where they are. Not from tapping the phone, anyway.”

  “Ugh.” Kit shoved a hand through her hair, trying for all she was worth to remember the first boy Liz had kissed.

  Rafe moved away, casually angling back against the door, but Kit felt the withdrawal like a slap. This was the way things were going to be; she had to accept it.

  “Okay, second grade.” She drummed her fingers on her knee, too aware of Rafe’s spicy scent, the way his broad shoulders blocked the window behind him. “Oh, Will…Grady. Yes, that’s it.”

  “Okay, let’s take a look.” Rafe reached under his seat and pulled out the atlas he’d brought.

  Leaning over, her shoulder against his, she scanned the map of Kansas. “A town in Kansas named Will? William? Williams? Williamstown?”

  “Grady City.” Rafe stabbed a finger at a small dot on the opposite side of the state. “Straight west of here, clear across Kansas. Looks like four hundred miles or so.”

  “They must be planning to drive all night.”

  “If she wants to pick up that money tomorrow, I’d say you’re right.”

  “So, we go, too, right?”

  “Right.”

  She took the atlas from him and dropped it in the back seat. “First stop Check It Out?”

  “Yes. We’ll wire the money, drive on to Grady City and be there to meet Liz at the bank in the morning.”

  “I like the way you think.”

  He flashed her a grin that caused a flutter in her stomach. She flat out gave up on ignoring it; she just couldn’t. The man got to her quicker than lightning to a rod, and she was out of resolve to fight it.

  Less than half an hour later, they had wired sixteen hundred dollars to the First State Bank of Grady City and were headed north on US-69 to US-54 West. Her nerves were stretched thin from keeping up a casual front. This was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 10

  He was doing fine, Rafe told himself as they drove. Even if his car had never felt so small. For nearly twelve hours, he’d been sitting mere inches from Kit, breathing the same air, feeling every one of her movements in nerve endings that were too sensitive. About three hundred miles back, he had put himself in a holding pattern, refusing to allow his mind to go anywhere but the case. He hadn’t and wouldn’t think about Kit and the need closing around him like an insidious fog.

  He shifted his legs beneath the car’s dashboard, his knees banging into the glove compartment. He had the passenger seat as far back as it would go. Once the sun had set, Kit had offered to drive because of his night blindness.

  He’d wanted to drive, wanted something to occupy his mind and his hands, but he could see that she needed to feel as if she were helping. Since his night vision in the last year had become noticeably worse, he’d agreed.

  They’d talked about music and movies, even water-skiing, and Kit had followed his lead, not once broaching a subject with more personal relevance than that. The whole time, he’d kept an eye out for a silver sedan or any sign of a tail.

  She’d been in such perfect sync with his thoughts and suggestions today that they were starting to operate like two old partners. Satisfied with what they’d learned in Wexler, he couldn
’t stop his admiration over the way she’d handled Liz. Better than he’d ever seen.

  He’d always wanted to be the one person with whom Kit could let down her guard, release the lock on that iron-maiden control. Maybe when they’d been together before, he’d asked too much of her, too quickly. Since they’d hooked up to find Liz, she’d let him see frustration, uncertainty, fear. The old Kit never would have shown such vulnerability.

  Too late, he reminded himself. The time for regret was past. Yet, he wondered what it would be like if she turned that intense, single-minded focus on him.

  He slammed the door on the thought. It wasn’t going to happen. And he wasn’t letting his mind wander to silky, tantalizing corners like that anymore.

  Discipline and self-control were second nature to him, right? He was Air Force, after all. He could do this. He was doing it. He refused to be distracted by something he didn’t know how to deal with. He cared for her—she’d been his first love, and he supposed he would always have feelings for her—but he wouldn’t go back.

  They reached Grady City limits just after one in the morning and pulled up under a single red flashing light at an intersection in the middle of the prairie. Flat wheat fields, barren of trees, rippled unendingly into the sooty night. Silver clouds, trimmed in midnight black, scudded across the sky in front of a translucent, milk-white moon.

  After consulting the map, they turned right at the inter-section and drove into town. Seeing Kit stifle a yawn for the third time, he suggested they stop at the first hotel they saw. Within half an hour, they were settled into clean, moderately priced rooms across the hall from one another.

  He told Kit good-night, trying not to notice how sexy she looked with her short hair tousled by repeated finger combings. Or how the smudges under her tired eyes tugged at him.

  He stood in the open doorway of his room, waiting until she locked herself in and he heard the dead bolt slide home. Restless and edgy, he moved into his room, closed the door. Walking to the window, he nudged back one edge of the nubby oatmeal-and-turquoise striped curtain. He’d requested rooms on this side of the hotel so he could keep an eye on the parking lot.